


Valentine's Day prompt

by thecriminologist



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: A/B/O, Johnlock - Freeform, Knotting, M/M, Omegaverse, kinkfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-15
Updated: 2014-02-15
Packaged: 2018-01-12 13:55:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,074
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1187760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thecriminologist/pseuds/thecriminologist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For Tumblr user Johnlockedness for the Johnlock Gift Exchange.  This isn't a casefic but I hope you like it!  Happy Valentine's Day everyone :)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Valentine's Day prompt

John was immensely glad Sherlock had decided to stop taking his hormone suppressants. He would never tell Sherlock that, of course, because he would be worried he’d pressure his husband into something he didn’t want or wasn’t comfortable with. But the truth was, the sex was just better during Sherlock’s heats. It was consuming, fiery and passionate like it could never be without the added rush of hormone’s and the need, the primitive insatiable desire, that made both of them more brazen than they ever were outside of a heat. The first time Sherlock had gone off his pills, John had been taken by surprise. It had never occurred to Sherlock to mention the change to him, because Sherlock was Sherlock, and John had had to remind himself that he loved his husband, each and every part, even the part that had neglected to tell John that he was going to arrive at a crime scene full of unbonded alpha police officers smelling absolutely edible.

  
“Sherlock? What is going on? You smell…. Like you’re going into heat. Have you gone off your meds?” John was hissing into his husband’s ear, hand latched onto the elbow of the taller man’s coat. He was glaring viciously at all those around them, silently warning them away from his omega. He hadn’t felt so possessive of his flatmate since… well, since ever. They had never had a very hormonal relationship, since Sherlock was, for all intents and purposes, a beta when he was on his meds. They weren’t technically bonded. They were legally married under the same laws as an alpha and beta would be, which had taken some of Mycroft’s considerable heft to manage. Mycroft hadn’t been able to have Sherlock reclassified as a beta, but he had been able to hide Sherlock’s secondary gender from all public records. Sherlock had decided to forgo the hassles of life as an omega long ago, living as a beta and making their partnership essentially that of a beta and omega. And John had been fine with this decision because he respected Sherlock, wanted him to be comfortable with his own gender and within his own skin.

  
“Hmm? Oh, yes, went off them a few months ago. Thought I’d mentioned it. Is this the only body they’ve found? Because there should be another one very close by…. Interesting. Those marks are-” John interrupted his tirade with a rare show of alpha dominance, curving one calloused palm over Sherlock’s mouth and holding fast. His husband’s breath was warm against the skin of his palm, the pace quickened slightly. So he’d shocked him, likely. That was nothing compared to the shock Sherlock was giving him.

  
“Sherlock, I need you to tell me if you are going into heat right now, because that’s what you smell like, and if I know it, then so does every police officer within two hundred yards, and not all of them are so keen on you. So I need you to nod or shake your head right now.” John’s voice was low and commanding, and Sherlock’s pupils widened steadily. He stared at John for a few seconds and then, very imperiously, shrugged, looking pointedly at the hand covering his mouth. John removed the offending appendage, staring down his taller lover.

  
“I don’t know for sure. I’ve never gone into heat, so I can’t calculate from my last or tell you if the experience is the same. Judging by the symptoms, now you’ve mentioned them… I do believe that, yes, I am going into heat. But really, John, my work is here, and if I can continue, then I don’t see why my state should have any affect on- John!” Shock coloured Sherlock’s rich baritone as John began to drag him steadily away from the scene. The detective stumbled slightly, regained his footing and glowered at his shorter husband. “Really, I don’t see why you find it necessary to drag me about, I’m merely attempting to do my job, which you have never objected to in the past. Honestly, John, I don’t recall you being so dramatic. I thought I was the dramatic one.” Sherlock managed to look aloof and composed despite his being led on by John’s stern grip on his elbow. He remained entirely oblivious of the stares of the officers around him.

  
“Listen to me, Sherlock. You smell like sex, and not everyone has as much control as I do, and the law does not favor you. Legally, you are in the wrong if you are in heat and an alpha rapes you, since we are not bonded, and I do not fancy having to protect you from all of Scotland Yard and half of London at once. So, yes, you are going to follow me and I am going to take you home and get you safe and then we can discuss all of this.” John’s voice was low and threatening, which wasn’t intentional on John’s part, but he didn’t know how to fix it. His hormones were nearly completely taking over, and all he wanted was to drag Sherlock back home, get him safe, and then shag the living daylights out of him.

  
He bundled him into a taxi and sent a quick message to Greg, telling him of the reason for their abrupt departure. Likely Mycroft had already figured it out and told him. Sherlock’s older brother was much more human now that he was married to Greg. It was nice, in most aspects. John didn’t have to worry about being kidnapped any more. At least, kidnapped by Mycroft. On the other hand, Mycroft was prone to rather inordinate displays of overprotectiveness for his baby brother, and John had had the privilege of watching Sherlock disable the cameras Mycroft had strategically located all over the flat, as well as dismiss each and every private bodyguard Mycroft had sent to them on dangerous cases. The Holmes boys were stubborn, but an endearing stubborn. Most of the time.

  
John paid the beta taxi driver (thank god) and all but carried Sherlock up to their rooms, passing a bewildered Mrs. Hudson and calling out a vague excuse about experiments and chemicals and hormones. The second Sherlock was in their flat, John locked the door and made to do the same to all the windows.

  
“I don’t see why this is all necessary. I cannot possibly smell that enticing, though I do recognize the danger of underdeveloped knotheads. It is a shame that there is rarely an equal distribution of brawn and brain.” Sherlock took off his coat and scarf as usual, hanging them on the rack beside the door and moving towards the couch as if nothing had changed. He likely had not begun to feel the effects of his heat yet. The medical literature said the first head could be very sudden and surprising, but John hoped it was coming on soon. He was beginning to lose his own control, succumbing to the tantalizing scent rolling off his husband. Having finished locking every possible entrance to their apartment, John caught Sherlock up before he could reach his destination and pressed him back into the wall, nuzzling into his neck to get a deeper whiff.

  
“You can and do smell absolutely delicious, Sherlock.” John murmured, pressing a gentle kiss into his flatmate’s neck. His senses were beginning to go foggy, the haze of hormones pervasive and unescapable. With all the windows shut, the apartment would be absolutely swimming in chemical signaling within an hour. There was something John needed to ask, needed to say, needed to…

  
“John? John, your pupils are dilated and your pulse is racing and your body temperature is much higher than normal. What is that smell, by the way? Is that you?” Sherlock was still ridiculously in control. How he could smell so far gone and be completely unaffected, John knew not. But he needed to ask…right. He needed to ask Sherlock what he wanted.

  
“Sherlock, listen to me, because we haven’t got much time. Did you intentionally bring on this heat? Because if not, you need to lock yourself in your room until it’s over, because otherwise I won’t be able to help myself. You smell absolutely enticing.” The proximity to his omega was making John’s head spin and he felt uncomfortably aroused. He wanted nothing more than to bury himself in Sherlock and ride him until they both collapsed of exhaustion, but likely Sherlock hadn’t done this intentionally.

  
“Yes, I intentionally brought on this heat. I didn’t know it would be now, but I thought it might be nice if we… bonded. Not legally, but actually, an alpha- omega bond with all it entails. I thought that was what you wanted.” Sherlock became scarily quiet, looking down and refusing to meet John’s gaze. The bloody idiot. He thought John didn’t want him.  
“I love you, Sherlock, and while I think you should have mentioned this to me, I fully support you in your decision, and yes, I fucking want us to bond, but we need the bedroom, now, otherwise I’m going to fuck you right here.” John didn’t wait for Sherlock to acquiesce before pulling him down the hall into their bedroom suite.

  
“I feel… peculiar.” Sherlock admitted, falling onto his back on the bed. John wasted no time in divesting his own clothes. His omega looked utterly confused. “I feel uncomfortably hot, and almost sick, but not quite, like there’s some sort of obstruction in my stomach. My pulse is all too high. Oh, oh, that is quite a unique sensation.” Sherlock’s eyes slipped shut and he squirmed slightly. The bulge at his crotch was apparent, and his skin was indeed beginning to be quite flushed. “John.” He sounded surprisingly petulant and John would have laughed had he not been so intent on getting at Sherlock’s naked flesh, on marking him and making his possession of him irreversible. John wanted to mark him permanently, make it known to all that Sherlock was his, his omega.

  
“I know, love. Stand, please.” John rarely used endearing nicknames but he couldn’t seem to help himself in this instance. He pulled Sherlock to his feet and stripped his trousers off quickly and efficiently, removing his pants with no wasted effort. Sherlock moaned as the waistband pressed into the head of his cock, looking entirely debauched before they had even started. Buttons flew as John quite literally tore Sherlock’s shirt off, but neither was able to care, too invested in the other to notice the little brown discs rolling under the furniture.

  
“John, please.” Sherlock was truly begging, rutting against John’s thigh. His eyes had long since drooped shut, unable to remain open under the onslaught of sensation. John took a second to take in the sight of Sherlock, flushed a very startling shade of pink from his hairline to his toes, though a bit darker at the crotch. Sherlock’s arousal was evident in the strain of his prick, jutting proudly out from his stomach and flushed several shades darker than the rest of his lithe frame. John was in no better condition, painfully aroused and very much desiring.

  
Their lips met in a painful clash, neither of them entirely sure of who initiated the kiss. The need to touch was mutual, and they tumbled back onto the mattress. The clash of lips and tongues was raw passion, no romance or gentleness involved. They were animals, reduced to lust and wanting by their own biology.  
“Fuck, Sherlock, need you on your knees, now.” John bit out the terse command, shifting back to allow his husband to change positions. The sight of Sherlock’s flushed back and the smooth flesh of his buttocks made John nearly delirious with want. He moved quickly to prepare Sherlock, trusting to the natural lubrication of Sherlock’s omega sexual organs.

  
“Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck!” Sherlock’s voice was even more husky than usual, and he pressed back onto John’s digit, tossing his head with uncontained pleasure. “More, John, need more. I want you in me, now, right now. Right now!” Sherlock was pleading unrestrainedly, fucking himself on the single finger John was using to prepare him. The army captain moved to add two more and Sherlock shouted out a hoarse cry, impaling himself with increasing momentum.

  
“Need you, need your alpha prick in me, John. I need it. Please, please, please, John!” Sherlock was more than adequately loose, his heat making it more than feasible for John to remove his fingers and line up his own prick, large even for an alpha’s, and slip the head into Sherlock’s hole. Sherlock gasped at the sensation, attempting to push back, but John’s hands came down hard on his hips, holding him still. He slid in slowly, enjoying the tight, wet heat of Sherlock’s lubricated passage.

  
“Oh, fuck, Sherlock, you’re so good.” John groaned into him, bottoming out. He remained still for a moment, allowing Sherlock to adjust, before the last vestiges of control he had disappeared and he succumbed to his animalistic side. He slid out nearly all the way and slammed back home, basking in the cry he elicited from his flatmate. Somewhere in the recesses of John’s foggy consciousness he knew he should be paying more regard to Sherlock’s comfort, but the dominant alpha could not be made to care and he slammed home again and again, stimulating Sherlock’s prostate on his third thrust.

  
The detective howled and pressed back greedily against John, wordlessly begging harder, faster. John complied, fucking into him with abandon. The friction of Sherlock against his oversensitive alpha prick was exquisite, and he knew he wasn’t going to last long. Of course, neither was Sherlock.

  
The knot on his prick was swelling, slowly but surely. The stretch slowly increased, and Sherlock was panting now, undoubtedly feeling pain mixed with delirious pleasure. John had never experienced a heat before and he was surprised at his own emotional display: he felt not only desirous but at once protective and possessive of Sherlock. Sherlock was his, his omega, and everyone else be damned if they took issue with that. He never wanted to let go of him, never wanted to stop breathing the intoxicating scent of his arousal mixed with the waves of hormones rolling off Sherlock.

  
Without thinking, John leaned over Sherlock, pressing against the length of his back and still managing to piston his hips, thrusting in and out of Sherlock at breakneck speed. He pressed his nose to the spot at Sherlock’s neck where the scent was the strongest, inhaling deeply before, as if in a trance, sinking his teeth into the pale, unmarked flesh of Sherlock’s neck.

  
“Oh, John!” Sherlock orgasmed almost violently, spurting come all over the sheets in thick streams and clenching tightly around John again and again and again. He stroked John nearly to completion, the knot on his prick swollen and making it difficult for him to fuck Sherlock. John slid out and in, out and in once more, out and then one final in, stretching Sherlock enough to make him cry out beneath John.

  
“It hurts, John. You’re too big.” Sherlock was nearly whimpering, shaking with exhaustion. John attempted to form words to console his husband, wanted to tell him it was okay, it would get better, but his own orgasm overtook him suddenly, like a wave crashing violently against the cliffs and he cried out, clutching Sherlock’s hip tightly enough to leave marks from his fingertips, as he came inside Sherlock, prompting a second orgasm from the hormonal omega. Sherlock’s passage clenched around him as if trying to expel the intrusion of his prick.

  
Sense returned to John once more, at least partially, and he pressed a kiss into Sherlock’s back, easing them both onto their sides while attempting not to stretch Sherlock further. There was little danger of John coming unsheathed; his knot had swelled even further and there was no way he would be able to slip out without hurting his bondmate. That’s what they were now. Bondmates.

  
“It’s okay, love, you’re okay. I’m sorry; it’ll be over soon.” Sherlock was whimpering against John, too overtaken by his biology to form coherent words. John stroked gently over the detective’s ribcage, wrapping a protective arm around his omega. He would never have to let go. They were bonded now, and there was no undoing that.  
“Hurts. Too big.” Sherlock managed, trembling against John. The captain tightened his grip on his lover, holding him closer and pressing a wordless kiss to the mark on his neck.

  
“I know. I’m sorry.” John murmured into the skin there. He could fill his prick draining slowly, excreting semen into Sherlock’s passage. Medically, he knew that the knot would go down in about seventeen more minutes. “You just have to be patient, Sherlock. Is there something I can do?” John questioned. Sherlock shook his head sloppily, leaning back into his mate’s arms and sagging against John’s shoulder.

  
“Haven’t slept in… four days. Tired.” Sherlock slurred the last word slightly before dropping off into sleep, head lolling against John’s bicep and his lips parting just slightly. John smiled fondly and readjusted slightly, bearing his mate’s weight more easily.

  
Typical Sherlock. He was an impatient git when you got right down to it. But John couldn’t fault him for it, not when he was warm and pliant and lolling against John’s side, looking satiated and peaceful. He loved the man lying beside him, more than he ever believed he could love anyone. Even if Sherlock was an annoying git. He loved that about him too.

  
He did smell differently, now, John noted. Sherlock’s smell had morphed into something… different. John wasn’t sure it was necessarily better, just different. He’d enjoyed Sherlock’s old scent greatly, and the new would take some getting used to. They’d have to have a conversation at some point about their new status, and about things that should be mentioned to each other (particularly things that put one of them in danger) but for now, John was content to merely hold his lover and familiarize himself with the new scent of their bond.

  
When the knot finally diminished enough for him to slide out, Sherlock roused again and turned to John for a sleepy kiss.

  
“John?” He asked gently, his words less precise than usual. Likely he was still groggy from hormones. His heat remained far from over. “Can we go again?”


End file.
